


Namesake

by JohnAmendAll



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Community: dw_straybunnies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-18
Updated: 2012-08-18
Packaged: 2017-11-12 10:00:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/489622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnAmendAll/pseuds/JohnAmendAll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Royal audience for Section Leader Shaw.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire and Water

**Author's Note:**

> For the [dw_straybunnies](http://www.whofic.com/dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com) prompt of the month: [Liz Shaw](http://dw-straybunnies.livejournal.com/42741.html).
> 
> The prompt selected was a randomly generated pairing: Liz Ten / Liz Shaw / a parallel universe.

Today was not turning out to be a good day for Section Leader Elizabeth Shaw. To start with, her interrogation of the preposterously-dressed saboteur who called himself 'Doctor' had not managed to break his obviously false story about coming from another space-time continuum. Then the far-fetched reasoning behind his attempted sabotage had turned out to be disastrously true. After that he'd managed to prove that he really did have the ability to escape – but couldn't take her with him – and she'd been forced to shoot her commanding officer in a probably doomed attempt to save some hypothetical parallel version of herself. And to top it off, she knew this was the last day of her life.

Once the Doctor was safely away, she – and Petra Williams and Greg Sutton – would face the same choice. With nowhere to run to, they could wait for the eruption at the drill-head to reach them, or choose to be cut down by her gun.

Hot as she was, she felt the heat increase further.

"Go on, Doctor, go now!" she shouted.

The Doctor's strange six-sided machine continued to groan and shudder, but there was no sign of it vanishing as it had briefly done before.

"I can't," the Doctor called back. "It's still too erratic!"

"Greg!" shouted Petra, drawing everyone's attention to the world outside.

The buildings opposite had already vanished under a swiftly-flowing tide of lava, and it was obvious that it would reach their hut – and the crucial power cable from the reactor – in a matter of seconds. Above and before the lava rolled a wave of hot air and volcanic gas.

The last sight to meet Elizabeth Shaw's eyes before the cloud of acrid gas swept over her was the other two, Greg and Petra, instinctively backing away from the approaching fiery death. Then it became impossible to see through the fumes and the resulting tears; or even to breathe without a struggle in the caustic atmosphere. Even if they'd wanted her to, she couldn't have given them a quick death now. She could still shoot herself, of course – her hand closed around the butt of the pistol – but some final curiosity made her wait until she was sure the Doctor was away safely.

Although she could see nothing, and the volcanic fumes were beginning to make her head swim, she could still hear. The noise of the Doctor's machine was finally beginning to rise in volume and pitch, changing from its previous hollow gurgle to a steady scraping sound. It somehow filled the hut, drowning out both the distant roar of the eruption and the closer sizzle of the encroaching lava.

The heat from the lava struck Elizabeth like a physical blow, and she staggered backward, unable to guess where in the hut she was. As she did so, she felt a curious tugging sensation, as if someone had grabbed the back of her jacket and was trying to pull her over. And why, if she was standing on a concrete floor, did it feel as she was on tiptoes with an infinite abyss behind her? Was the hot gas making her hallucinate?

The scraping rose to a full-blown roar; Elizabeth was jerked back sharply; and the heat and fumes surrounding her seemed to recede to an infinite distance. Briefly she managed to force her watering eyes open. The storage hut, even as it began to melt under the onslaught of the lava, seemed curiously dim and indistinct; angular silver lights swirled before her. The gun was still in her hand, but she couldn't aim it, couldn't even pull the trigger. Had she died already?

* * *

How long she'd been in the limbo she couldn't say. It might have been seconds, hours, or years. The sound of the Doctor's machine had long since faded into the distance, leaving only faint white noise in which Elizabeth was half-convinced she could hear voices and the cries of strange birds. Now, that too was disappearing, to be replaced by the sound of rippling water. Other sensations were returning, too: a cold polished surface against her cheek, a gentle scent of orange blossom.

Elizabeth's eyes snapped open. She was lying on the floor of an unfamiliar, cavernous room, luxuriously appointed and dimly lit. She tried to guess where this could be, and came up blank. In all her dealings with her superiors in the Party, none of them had struck her as the sort to go in for secret ostentation. Somewhere abroad, then: perhaps one of the Balkan dictatorships?

There was a sound of displaced water, and a click that sounded remarkably like a weapon being cocked.

"Don't make any sudden movements," a Cockney-accented woman's voice said. "And keep your hands where I can see 'em."

Elizabeth managed to turn her head in the direction of the voice. A little way away from her, set into the floor, was either a large bath or a small swimming pool. Standing beside this was a dark-skinned woman with a silver, pistol-like device in her right hand, aiming it with the stance of a professional. It took an additional moment for Elizabeth to register her captor's garment: a light bathrobe of some kind, trimmed with lace.

Taking care to move slowly, Elizabeth managed to raise herself to hands and knees.

"Hand over that gun." As Elizabeth hesitated, a white flame erupted from the other woman's weapon, striking the floor inches from Elizabeth's head. Surrendering to the inevitable, she slid the pistol across the floor; the other woman picked it up, glanced briefly at it, and accurately tossed it at a hatch in one of the panelled walls. It disappeared with a clatter, and a brief flare of red light.

"Right," the woman said. She crossed the floor towards Elizabeth, leaving a trail of damp footprints. "Who are you, and what are you doing in my bathroom?"

Elizabeth met her eye. "Shaw, Elizabeth. Section Leader. 24016443P."

"Nice name." The other woman's mouth quirked in what might have been a brief smile. "'Course, I can't let you use it. Not when there's me in the room. Which do you prefer – Betsy or Buffy?" She paused briefly, then shrugged. "Get back to me on that when you've made up your mind. How did you get in here?"

"Shaw, Elizabeth. Section–"

"I heard you the first time." She lowered her weapon slightly. "Don't think you're the first crazy stalker I've had in here. One word from me and we'll be up to here in Winders."

Elizabeth made no reply. Whatever this world was, she was no part of it: there was no reason to let its rules apply to her. The woman took a step closer.

"You're different, I'll give you that," she said. "The others wouldn't shut up. What's the point of getting yourself a royal audience if you don't even open your mouth when you get it?" She paused, taking in the effect that her last statement had had. "You don't know who I am, do you? Can't be many people round here who don't recognise the bloody Queen of England. Elizabeth the Tenth, I am, I am."

Elizabeth made up her mind. Whether she'd been transported into the past, or the future, or somewhere else entirely, she was still a citizen of the British Republic. In fact, by now she was probably all that was left of the Republic.

Well, the Republic wasn't going down without a fight.

Moving with all the speed she could muster, Elizabeth launched herself at the so-called Queen. As she did so, her right hand dropped to her belt, and came up holding a knife, while her left knocked the Queen's weapon away. She brought the knife up–

– and the Queen, moving with equal speed, closed her free hand over Elizabeth's, while at the same moment her leg hooked around Elizabeth's knee. For a moment the two swayed together, the fight balanced between them; then they were falling, the room spinning around them. With a thunderous splash they plunged into the pool, the water roaring in Elizabeth's ears, her uniform dragging her down.

Her head was grabbed by the hair, and pulled above the surface. She was face to face with the woman who'd called herself Queen.

"We can do this two ways," Her Majesty said. "The easy way, or the hard way. Which do you want?"

Elizabeth's reply was short, anatomical, and not in the least complimentary.

"Fair enough." Those strong hands pushed Elizabeth down again, back under the water, and this time kept pushing.

 _I thought my life was going to end in fire,_ was her last thought. _Water isn't much of an improvement._


	2. Not So Different

"Feel a bit more reasonable now?" the Queen's voice asked.

Elizabeth forced her eyes open, and took stock of her situation. Her hair and uniform were damp, but not soaking wet, so it must be some time since she'd been on the point of drowning. Movement was out of the question; she was restrained in some kind of padded chair. Sitting opposite her was the Queen, now dressed in a dark red cloak edged with gold braid. A small table stood between them, bearing two cups, a teapot, and a bowl containing what looked, to Elizabeth, like more than a month's ration of sugar.

"Funny thing," the Queen said. "They say people have dreams about me. And when they do, a lot of the time, it's this. Having a nice cup of tea and a bit of a chat." She picked up the cup nearer to her, and took a sip. "Now, you're in a lot of trouble, Betsy Shaw. You got into my bathroom, which is breaking and entering. You tried to murder me, which is high treason. And you interrupted my bath, which if it isn't illegal damn well should be. If it wasn't for one word, you'd be in the Tower by now."

Elizabeth was more used to delivering interrogations than undergoing them, but she tried to dredge up her training in resistance techniques. It wasn't easy; her life in the Republic felt curiously thin and dreamlike, while the reality of this world was pressing down on her with nearly intolerable weight.

"The word," Her Majesty said, "is, of course, 'Doctor.'"

"The Doctor," Elizabeth mumbled, only then realising she'd broken her resolve not to speak. But then, she probably didn't have a choice; they must have pumped her full of interrogation drugs. That was what she'd have ordered to be done, if things had been the other way round. For a moment, she tried to imagine the scenario: this infuriating woman secured in a chair, and herself extracting the truth, sentence by painful sentence. It didn't help.

"Did a bit of reading while you was having your kip," the Queen went on. "Turned up the UNIT report on the Inferno Project. Been in the files more than a thousand years. If it wasn't for you, the Doctor wouldn't have got back from your world – which means I wouldn't be here talking to you now. And that's why you're still in one piece. Question is, what I do with you now. Any suggestions?"

"Whatever you like," Elizabeth retorted. Given that she'd been drugged, it was obviously with something far more sophisticated than the Republic had had access to. Respiration, pulse, vision and hearing all felt normal, and her voice sounded, at least to her, calm and controlled. "Have me executed, I suppose. That's what tyrants do. I'll die as a free citizen rather than live as your subject."

The Queen chuckled. "Don't lay all that republican nonsense on me. Just because you've got yourself in a nice mess, that don't make you Ollie Cromwell. If your Republic was still around, you'd be in a bigger mess. D'you think I don't know you shot your commanding officer?"

"That..." Elizabeth had hardly given herself time to think about what she'd done, far less how she'd felt. The memory rushed back before she could stop it, the world ending around her while her loyalty hung in the balance.

"My reasons were my own," she said.

"That sort of thing's not going to make people trust you, Betsy. They might think you made a habit of killing your superior. Tends to upset people, that does. Particularly me: I'm everyone's superior, aren't I?"

"I wouldn't kill you," Elizabeth heard herself saying, and realised she meant it.

"Wouldn't you? What was that just now?"

"I thought the Republic was a cause worth dying for." Elizabeth took a deep breath. "I had to believe that, or my life didn't make sense. Whatever that dossier you've got on me says, it's written by someone who only knew me for a few hours. He didn't know me – all the things I've done for the Republic. And then, when I realised it had all been for nothing..."

"Gotcha. Suicide-by-Queen."

"If you like."

The Queen took another sip of tea. "I'm gonna tell you a little story now. Once upon a time, there was a girl called Elizabeth. And when she was little, everyone taught her she had to dedicate her life to the service of her nation." She rattled the words out as if they'd long since lost any meaning for her. "When she grew up, she found out what that meant. It meant torturing innocent creatures that only wanted to help. It meant killing people who didn't agree with what her government was doing. In the end, it meant having kids taken away from their families forever 'cos they used the lift instead of the stairs. And this was her life for two hundred and fifty years."

"You mean..." Elizabeth found her mouth was dry.

Her Majesty pointed at herself. "The bloody Queen. It's not just a figure of speech." She shrugged. "Every step of the way, I thought there wasn't an alternative. I don't remember most of it, but I've seen the messages I left for myself. My world was burning, too. I thought – everyone thought – this was the only way out."

"What changed?"

"One day the Doctor paid a call. Just like he did with you. And it turned out we'd never needed to do any of it. All that torture, all that killing, for nothing." She set down her cup, with an emphatic _click_.

Elizabeth shivered. She'd tried to keep her face expressionless, but had an uncomfortable feeling that the Queen knew exactly what effect her story was having – was judging the effect of each conversational shaft as it went home.

"I presume you're telling me all this to show that you can live with the knowledge of what you've done," she said. "Why do you think your reasons would apply to me?"

"You're missing the point, Betsy. I could've topped myself the day after the Doctor went. Wouldn't've done the slightest good to anyone. The hard bit's carrying on. Dealing with what you've done and trying to put it right." She rose to her feet, and crossed to Elizabeth's chair. "Which is where you come in. You're right I don't know what you did. But I've got a good guess what you _could_ do."

"If it's anything like what I did before, you can forget about it."

"That's not what I mean. I've got no time for spies or secret police, not any more. Point is, there was another Elizabeth Shaw once."

"I know; the Doctor told me. My counterpart."

"Well, I've got her dossier too. Bright girl, she was. I think you've got that in you. So, if I was to let you go... what would you do?"

Elizabeth tried to think of an answer, but drew a blank.

"I don't know," she eventually said. "I don't even know who I am any more. You said you were trying to put your mistakes right. I can't do that. There's no-one left who'd know, let alone care."

"I'd know."

Elizabeth sighed. "Then you'd better tell me what I do now."

"You mean you want to be my subject after all? Unconditional surrender?"

"Unconditional."

"Fine." The restraints on her arms and legs slackened. "Here, have some tea. We'll do the oath of allegiance and all that later."

The second teacup was pressed into Elizabeth's hands. She looked at it uncertainly for a moment before taking a sip.

"Silly of me," she said. "For a moment I thought you'd drugged it. But you've done that to me already, haven't you?"

The Queen looked baffled. "Say what?"

"While I was out, you must have dosed me with something to make me talk."

"Nope."

"But I told you–"

Bafflement changed to a mischievous grin. "You told me what you wanted to tell me, Betsy. You couldn't wait to spill it all."

"Augh." Elizabeth put one hand to her head. "I was so sure..." She fell silent for a few moments. "Did you say you had a dossier on the other me?"

"That's right. Want a look?"

"No. If I'm going to make a life here, it's going to be mine, not hers."

The Queen patted her on the shoulder. "Quite right, too. Now, let's see about getting you that life." She made no apparent movement, but the distant sound of a bell could be heard. "I'll get Mandy to sort out an ID for you and so on, and then we can do the formal stuff."

"And after that?"

A young woman, dressed in a uniform that looked both vaguely futuristic and centuries old, entered and curtseyed.

"Mandy, this is Betsy Shaw," the Queen said. "New subject. Needs an ID and somewhere to live and so on. Got that?"

The maid curtseyed. "Your Majesty."

"Oh, and get her something decent to wear, 'cos she's disgraced that uniform." She looked at the maid's puzzled expression. "Don't worry, it deserved it. If she hadn't have done it, I would."

With one hand, she hauled Elizabeth to her feet, and propelled her in the direction of the door.

"As for 'after that,'" she added, "if you ever need another little chat, feel free to pop round any time. But try not to do it again when I'm having a bath. OK?"


End file.
